


Išprovokuoti Mane

by PrittlePrince



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dark, Graphic, Hair Tugging, Hannibal might be dangerous, M/M, Oral Sex, Pain (mild discomfort), Will doesn't know Hannibal is a cannibal, Will thinks he is in control, dubious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4981351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrittlePrince/pseuds/PrittlePrince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will provokes Hannibal until he gets the desired response.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Išprovokuoti Mane

A wisp of cool chiffon slips over his shoulder and drags gently along his neck as he wakes. The window behind him is open and a gentle breeze pushes and tugs the curtains back and forth. Goosebumps cascade along his shoulders. A silent gust and they rise again. He lifts a heavy hand and pushes them aside. The room comes into view as he lifts his chin groggily from his chest and rubs sleep from under his eyes. Pain and ache begin to creep into the edges of his consciousness. 

Will’s voice is a tired rumble from where he sits slightly to the left, slumped deep into a patchy armchair.

“I probably should have brought you home.” 

The low and gravelly post-sleep timbre of Will’s voice sense a shiver of warmth to the base of Hannibal’s spine. He smiles wearily and raises one arm to give it a roll and a stretch, eyes never leaving Will. They’re home, his sleep-drugged brain supplies him. It _could_ be their home. His brow furrows. There's a haze of confusion that is taking it’s time to dissipate. 

“Was I asleep, or unconscious?” Budge had taken a bit out of him, but he’d been fine. Exhausted, elated to see Will safe. Had he lost consciousness? There is a strange gap in his memory, a concerning thought that blossoms wildly behind his eyes. Will straightens slightly in his chair, concerned to see Hannibal of all people disoriented when so often it is the other way around.

“Asleep.” Will has watched Hannibal for the time it has taken for the last threads of sun to leave the room in a cool blue light. Observed the ticks of sleep as he had sat slumped in the chair. Watched, interested, as sleep had slowly slipped away with the breeze pushing his bangs across his forehead. Blonde, grey, brown. Will doesn’t know. He shakes aware the strange pleasure of this man in his home and his focus pinpoints on Hannibal’s anxiety.

“We came in together. You were awake.” He’d been exhausted, and Will remembers even then the alien feeling of concern for Hannibal. “You asked to come.”

Hannibal stands gingerly and stares into the blackness beyond Will’s porch with a distant gaze. His muscles protest and ache.

“So I did.” His voice is less undecided when he finally looks back down at Will. There are still flecks of blood behind his ears and Hannibal’s nostrils flare. A warmth spreads through his chest. Will has fought for him, panicked and come after him, _smells_ like a struggle.

“Would you like a shower?” Will stands as well, and the toll the day has taken on him becomes slightly more obvious. His hands are raw and continue to crack and bleed as he makes nervous fists. Hannibal takes a step forward, taking note of the way his heart beats strangely within his own chest.

“Your wounds need to be tended to.” 

Will offers an uncomfortable half-smile, but swallows with guilt and does not answer. Hannibal doesn’t quite look like himself anymore, so undone. His lip still seems to be pulled neatly into what Will thinks may be a snarl. There’s a possessiveness and pride emanating from the older man and sends another curious rush of pleasure through Will’s stomach. 

He feels now that Hannibal seems very at home on the other side, in this deranged and unpredictable darkness Will is sure he’s now dragged Hannibal into. He’d taken Hannibal’s outstretched hand and pulled him to the other side of the train tracks, or perhaps onto the very tracks he finds himself tied to. Perhaps they are both awaiting the crush together. The ground is shuddering. 

“Likewise.” He finally responds. Hannibal has been observing him patiently.

Hannibal’s face shows light bruises on his cheeks, small lacerations across the bridge of his nose, and one pulls taught above his left brow. He is still, arms loose at his sides. His eyes watch an uncertain Will with a darkening gaze until the agent appears to come to a silent decision.

Hannibal allows himself to be led upstairs. The small bathroom is cramped, but they manage to help each other undress without incident. Will’s hands crack and bleed, and when Hannibal finally pulls them both under the warm stream of the shower, Will hisses in unbridled pain. The water streams pink and red around their feet as Hannibal gingerly washes them both. He makes the water cool, and avoids soap as he rinses blood and dirt from Will’s curls.

A feeling, bright and burning and dangerous grows in the pit of his stomach. He longs to spread his fingers along Will’s jaw, thumb behind his ear and kiss him slow and slick under the stream of water. The image is strong and nearly irresistible and he allows one hand a dangerous path down, tickling Will’s ribs to settle on his hip. Will lays his head softly against Hannibal’s chest and draws circles in the slicked hair there, breath shaky and hot along Hannibal’s throat while his heart beats like a jackrabbit.

A fretful noise escapes Will when Hannibal drags his fingernails gently along his bruised back. He smoothes the bumps away with a warm hand before tracing another set of delicate lines down until Will squirms breathlessly in his arms.

“Come,” Hannibal murmurs, extricating himself carefully from their embrace, “let's wrap your hands.”

Will clasps at his shoulders with desperate fingers, head tucked below Hannibal’s chin. He resists being pushed away, and only tucks his nose higher on Hannibal’s neck when long fingers push an errant curl back from Will’s face. Hannibal drops his own chin and presses his nose behind Will’s ear. 

Nervous and warm, Will spreads his fingers wide across Hannibal’s chest between them. He drags them down slowly, nails unabashedly catching pink nippes before his fingertips find the ridges of Hannibal’s bruised ribs. A small patch of goosebumps blooms there, and fascinated, Will presses slightly harder until Hannibal’s lips curl into a snarl against the pain and his breath comes quicker, loud near Will’s ear.

Will’s eyes widen and he kneads along the blueish flush under the skin until he pulls a hissed _Will_ from Hannibal’s lips. The doctor’s stance widens, and he places one arm against the tiled wall for support. Will pauses before pressing again, shivering when Hannibal’s shoulders spread wider, looming over Will with a low growl forced through clenched teeth. Will feels the canines against his neck and Hannibal’s cock twitching against his thigh. He takes a slow, shuddered breath and pulls out of the embrace to settle against the wall.

“Does this hurt?” He kneads gently at the bruise, knowing the answer with lashes spread across his cheeks.

“ _Yes_.” Hannibal’s pupils are blown large and black and his arm flexes anxiously where he has Will trapped against the wall.

“But you like it.” Will is matter of fact, although he is a little ashamed of putting Hannibal in this position. He wonders if he can distract Hannibal long enough, charm his well-enough, seduce his effectively until Hannibal believes it is all part of the allure of being tied to the train tracks. That he _wants_ this.

His breath slows, and Hannibal takes a much needed step back.

“Let’s dress your wounds.” He repeats, and this time Will allows himself to be led, and only begrudgingly stays still while they sit on stools in the kitchen in their underwear and Hannibal carefully disinfects and gauzes his knuckles.

Will’s eyes never stop travelling Hannibal’s shallow wounds, over and over until he’s sure he’s put them there himself. His heart still beats strangely when he thinks of the water dripping from Hannibal’s bangs in front of his darkened eyes, his lip twisted in a dangerous snarl. Will’s shivers. Hannibal’s hands hold his now, in their laps between their awkwardly interlocked knees. He has to lightly rub Will’s wrists to get his attention.

“Where have you gone?” 

Will’s eyes focus now on the soft swipe of hair flopping over Hannibal’s brow. How startlingly alien he looks to the image Will sees when he imagines Hannibal in his office, and even now when he imagines Hannibal upstairs in the shower, twenty minutes prior. The laceration along the bridge of his nose is an angry pink, and there is a cracked line of drying blood there. Will had been feeling guilty before, but something about what he’s seen tells him he hasn’t pulled Hannibal _too_ far into the darkness. Somehow the man seems as though he’s been there all along.

“I’d been wondering if I had done irreparable damage. Its clearly not safe to be counted among my friends.” His gaze dips to stare at Hannibal’s thumb rubbing light circles along his wrists.

“I wonder now if you actually find that kind of danger…” His brows furrow and he gaze lifts and then lingers on Hannibal’s bruised ribs, the beautiful spread of the purple and blue and yellow flush.

“Enticing?” Hannibal finished for him. Will swallows and nods.

“An Austrian economist by the name Friedrich von Wieser was one of the first to publish the idea of the cost of choice in philosophical terms. The sense of loss from having chosen one path and desiring the pleasure one could have had they chosen an alternative path. The value he drew from it was financially driven, but it is a sentiment that has been expressed throughout the ages: Perhaps I’ve made a better, more righteous choice, but I’ll never get back what I’ve sacrificed if I decide to stray from the ‘dangerous’ path.” He slides forward on his stool and tilts his head into the crook of Will’s neck, inhaling his scent, delighting in the shiver that passes through the other man.

“My point, is that I am _exactly_ where I want to be…” He hums, and noses along Will’s throat as his hands settle heavy and warm along Will’s thighs. “ _In danger's path_ , as it were.”

Will twists and sighs under Hannibal’s attention, catching his breath with closed eyes as one of Hannibal’s hands travel under the hem of his shorts to tickle the creamy skin of his inner thigh.

“ _Hannibal_...”

“For instance, I wish that earlier I’d done what I wont stop myself from doing now.” 

Will leans into him first, standing and stepping between his legs to cut him off with a desperate, aching kiss. Hannibal prepares himself for impact (Will had risen with the momentum of a starving man), but Hannibal receives only his lips first, and a sweet glide of a tongue against his own. His fingers come next, skating along Hannibal’s hips and higher, again to his ribs where his grip turns punishing. Will tilted his head and presses in further, slowly, opening his mouth to Hannibal’s and gasping his air before settling against his chest and _rolling_ his hips forward.

Their shared groan rises muffled under a slightly more desperate kiss. Will’s fingers glide and press over the foggy blue bruise spread over Hannibal’s side. A telltale drag of Hannibal’s fingertips up the back of Will’s thigh has Will shuddering again and tilting his hips. Hannibal’s lips travel further, sliding his teeth threateningly along Will’s jaw until he can press a solid kiss beneath his ear and slide his palm hot and sure along the solid bulge in Will’s shorts.

“I need you to tell me you’re sure this is what you want.” His hands long to roam, and Will’s skin smells so sweet but Hannibal is still and patient even as Will paws against him gently. Will lets his chin settle on Hannibal’s shoulder, taking a moment to slide his hands flat up a warm back, feel his heartbeat, turn his cheek and nose thoughtfully behind Hannibal’s ear. He thinks again on the hunger he saw in Hannibal’s eyes, the teeth bared, the _fury_ when Will prodded and pushed.

“ _Hannibal_.” His fingers drag down again and turn in, lining bruised ribs. He places a gentle kiss to Hannibal’s jaw. “I _don’t_ want you to ask me.”

He retreats, scratching one savage line over Hannibal’s side for emphasis before placing his palms delicately on Hannibal’s bent knees. He takes only one small step backwards, and no longer are they pressed and twisted to one another. Hannibal’s head hangs low between them and his bangs drift over his eyes once more. Will’s shoulders drop and he eases into a submissive lean against the counter.

He takes another step away, shivering when a low snarl twists from curled lips. His own nails drag threateningly over Will’s wrist as he stands. The stool makes a horrible noise as it slides backwards and despite their shared height, Hannibal seemed to loom over a still and calm Will.

Will allows himself to be lifted and placed effortlessly on the countertop, and he delights in observing the true extent of Hannibal’s power shifting and sliding under his skin; well-used muscles and a strong core. Hannibal’s hands on him are firm, pushing him onto his back and carefully mapping a trail down his abdomen while a warm hand grips him decisively again through his shorts and trace every swell and dip with want.

Sparks and fuzzy lines behind his eyes when Hannibal sucks and bites along his inner thigh. His hand moves only teasingly, but constantly, until Hannibal can run his thumb through the slick beading through Will’s shorts and spread it over the head of Will’s cock while Will gasps quietly beneath him.

As promised, Hannibal does no more than remove Will’s wrinkled shorts to warn him before mouthing up the side of his cock and swallowing him down with two strong hands easing his thighs apart and up to his chest. Will finally lets out a shout and twitches his hips up into the heavenly suction until his fingers begin to clench in Hannibal’s hair.

Demure doe-eyes gaze down at Hannibal even as Will’s fingers tighten and he rocks his hips, choking Hannibal only slightly. Another warning snarl as a wet thumb is pressed over Will’s entrance and Will freezes, fingers shaking against Hannibal’s jaw.

Hannibal relinquishes Will’s cock with an obscene pop and it thuds wetly against Will’s stomach. Precom buds almost immediately again at the tip and Hannibal’s tongue swipes at it before he stands straight again and runs his nails affectionately over bitten thighs. Will’s eyes are damp and a rose blush clings to him in what Hannibal relishes to be a rather charming way: knees and elbows, throat and cheeks. His curls damp behind his ears and drooping back from his forehead.

Will watches the hunger blooming behind Hannibal’s gaze and twines his legs behind Hannibal’s waist, reaching with one hand to press where he can reach. His fingers catch in a trail of smooth hair over Hannibal’s abdomen and stay there, pushing against the grain and biting his lips under Hannibal’s darkening scrutiny.

Hannibal tugs Will off the counter again and firmly turns him to lean over it. He nudges Will’s legs apart with his knees and fits himself like a puzzle piece along Will’s back, circling him in a tight grip around his middle and rolling his hips painfully slow until Will is whispering needily against the cool marble. They rock against each other at a pace Will finds dreadfully slow and Hannibal relishes, groaning throatily with every catch of his cock, trapped in his briefs, between Will’s legs.

Finally when Will is a wanton mess, clawing at the countertop and leaking precome along his own cock in a steady stream, Hannibal presses two oiled fingers into him, slow but unforgiving, and Will’s thighs begin to shake. Hannibal leans over him, sliding his fingers up under Will’s chin in a light grip.

“You may be under the illusion that it is safe to provoke me…” His fingers twist and plunge deeper and tears bead at the corner of Will’s eyes. “You know what my desire is, you can _feel _how my body wants you.” Hannibal’s nail scratch softly along Will’s chest and further down under he can free himself from his own briefs, tucking the elastic under his sac and dragging the foreskin back to rub a slick line along Will’s thigh.__

__A wet gasp escapes from bitten lips and Will screw himself back more desperately onto Hannibal’s fingers._ _

__“You like to hurt me, but do you like to be hurt? Teased, provoked? Will I see the manifestation of _your_ inner nightmare?”_ _

__He removes his fingers and rubs the oil into his own flesh, rocking into a tight fist and teasing at Will’s opening with his cock peeking scarlett and wet through his foreskin. When he brings his free hand again to Will’s throat and runs his thumb along a plumb lower lip, Will’s canines dig in sharply and unapologetically and Hannibal hisses before pressing into Will who twists and shudders under him._ _

__He licks the blood from his own thumb before pressing it tight under Will’s jaw again, bending him back so he can suck against his throat as he rocks into him. Will seems to hold his breath for far too long until Hannibal jerks his hips forward and Will sucks in a shuddering breath, one hand rising to tug uselessly at Hannibal’s tight grip._ _

__They develop a steady rhythm, and when Hannibal loosens his fingers, Will sighs and mewls and lifts onto his toes for every thrust, steadying himself against the counter with sweaty hands._ _

__Breathless and unsteady, Will comes first with a choked groan, and Hannibal grunts when Will pushes at him aggressively. He slides from Will’s opening with a slick sound and Will manhandles him back against the cupboards, dropping to his knees and swallowing Hannibal whole._ _

__Hannibal’s fingers twist into Will’s curls and he trusts deeply, twice, three times before Will feels him thicken and his seed spills molten hot along the back of his tongue and down his throat. His eyelashes are wet and stick together when Hannibal slips from between his lips and he is finally able to swallow._ _

__He leans his forehead against the cool wood of the cupboard and Hannibal shifts above him before joining him, sinking down to rest with his back against the wood. Will recovers slowly, one leg tucked beneath him and the other stretched out slightly askew. Hannibal lays one hand between them and Will eases forward to sink into his arms. Hannibal lays one hand along the back of Will’s neck and pulls him in, staring into the darkness of the unlit kitchen with eyes black and inhuman._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me at my [tumblr](prittprince.tumblr.com) for glitter boyfriend aesthetic, Hannibal, Sherlock, and feminism!


End file.
